


Elephant and Castle

by stjarna



Series: Elephant and Castle [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Some bus kids, Tattoo artist and musician AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-02-10 13:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: A Fitzsimmons tattoo artist and musician AU. Fitz only agreed to go to the tattoo parlor with his bandmate Hunter to ensure his best friend won't do anything stupid... again. But maybe suffering through the constant buzzing that makes his hairs stand on edge, will all be worth it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani and @lilsciencequeen.
> 
> I don't think I ever thought I would write a Fitzsimmons tattoo artist / musician AU, but somehow I got the idea stuck in my head, and once I went as far as to decide on a band name and design a fake band logo, I figured I needed to actually write this fic. May be slow to update, my muse has been fickle.

Fitz flinched when Hunter pushed the door to the tattoo parlor open with such vigor that it banged against one of the wooden frames of the glass facade.

“Do you do walk-ins?” his best friend asked with his usual exuberant enthusiasm, stepping up to the counter.

The young, black-haired woman behind it looked up from where she’d been drawing, eyeing Hunter with annoyed skepticism. “We do. But—” she remarked, pointing at a sign above: _People under the influence will not be served_.

“Oh, I’m not drunk, my love,” Hunter replied, reaching to the side to squeeze Fitz’s shoulder. “So Fitz be my witness.”

The woman’s eyes wandered to Fitz, narrowing even further as she looked expectantly at him. Fitz forced a smile, trying to ignore the constant buzzing of the tattoo parlor that left his hair standing on edge. “Yeah, no, he’s not drunk. He’s just—he’s just like that.”

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Well, aren’t you lucky then.”

Fitz shrugged, pressing his lips into a thin line.

The woman looked back at Hunter, exhaling sharply. “Alright.” She gestured at him palm-up, wiggling her fingers towards herself.

“Pardon me?” Hunter asked confused.

“Breath test,” she replied, in annoyance. “I’m not gonna take your husband’s word for it.”

“Husband? I’m not—” Fitz tried to chime in, at the same time Hunter said, “Oh, love, I had a gyro sandwich with extra onions not too long ago.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you ate, I give a fuck what you drank,” she countered matter-of-factly. “So, breath test.”

“Very well then, milady, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Hunter leaned over the counter, exhaling slowly through rounded lips.

The woman’s face contorted and she coughed a few times. “Okay. Not drunk—and definitely not joking about the extra onions.”

“I speak the truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“Alright, so what’s the design?” the woman shifted gear, looking back and forth between Fitz and Hunter, her tone still full of annoyance—though Fitz couldn’t really blame her (Hunter took some getting used to). “Matching ‘Love you forevers’?”

Fitz gestured at himself. “Oh, I’m not—I don’t want to—I wouldn’t—I’m just here to make sure he doesn’t get random women’s names tattooed.”

“—again,” Hunter added, leaning on the counter and grinning widely, as if his previous mishap was a cause for celebration.

The woman snorted. “You really know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?”

“Umm,” Fitz stammered, furrowing his brow, unsure of how to respond.

“Alright, so what’s the design then?” she repeated, slightly less aggressive this time.

Hunter slid the drawing over the counter, tapping it importantly with his fingers without saying a word. The woman picked up the design to study it, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows slightly. “That’s pretty rad. What is it?” she asked with honest curiosity.

“Our path to glory and riches,” Hunter replied, theatrically, and Fitz couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Alright,” she replied, skepticism lacing her tone as she drew out the word longer than necessary. “Just give me a moment.” She looked to her left, calling to one of the tattoo artists who was cleaning his station. “Robbie, do you have time for another walk-in?”

The artist turned around, shaking his head. “No. I need to pick up Gabe.”

“Right.” She lifted her chin in acknowledgment, before turning the other way. “Jemma?”

The buzzing from the far end of the shop stopped, and Fitz’s arm hairs momentarily relaxed, as the tattoo artist who had been working on a client paused to look over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“You’re almost done, right?”

“That’s right. Just putting on the final touches,” the tattoo artist replied, and Fitz was surprised to hear an English accent.

“Do you have time for a walk-in afterwards? Black line drawing.” The woman behind the counter lifted the drawing so that the tattoo artist could see it.

“Oh, that’s lovely. Absolutely!” She beamed at Hunter and Fitz, and the radiance of her smile almost took Fitz’s breath away. “I’ll be but a minute.”

Hunter gestured at her with both hands. “An English rose. It must be a sign.”

* * *

Jemma looked at the drawing in her hand, before smiling at her customer. “So, where are we putting this beauty?”

“Right here,” Hunter replied, patting the inside of his forearm.

She grabbed Hunter’s arm, laying the print-out on the spot he’d indicated to judge the best size for the tattoo. “Is it your design?”

Hunter laughed out loud. “Oh no, love. I don’t have that kind of talent.” He gestured with his chin at his companion. “That was all Fitzy, my man.”

Jemma looked at the quiet and nervous-looking man. “It’s so intricate and precise,” she complimented.

His lips pulled into a closed-mouth smile as he rocked back and forth on his feet, his hands tucked into his pockets. “Thanks.”

Jemma scrunched her nose, before forcing her gaze away from the mesmerizing blue of his irises, trying to focus back on her customer. “Well, I’ll just prep the stencil and then we can get started.”

“Brilliant,” Hunter replied, grinning widely.

* * *

Through the periphery of her vision, Jemma noticed Fitz’s knee nervously bobbing up and down, his face contorted at the constant buzzing of her tattoo machine.

She glanced in his direction, trying to smile encouragingly as she paused to dip the needle into the ink. “You know, you’re welcome to wait outside. The weather is lovely. There’s a delightful little coffee shop at the corner that has an excellent tea selection.”

He stared at her wide-eyed, before shaking his head. “No, no. I’m fine. I—I really should stay. You have no idea what kind of rubbish he can talk you into.” One corner of his mouth ticked up slightly into a boyish half-grin, and somehow the simple change in facial expression made Jemma’s stomach start to twinge.

“It’s true,” Hunter piped up, causing Jemma to shift her focus. “He’s contractually obligated to stop me from making idiot tattoo decisions.”

Jemma chuckled in amusement, looking back and forth between the two friends. “Is that so?”

Hunter shrugged. “Well, he promised my ex-wife-soon-to-be-wife-again he’d keep an eye on me. He’s more trustworthy than me.”

Jemma felt her lips pull into a wide smile when she noticed the slight blush creeping up Fitz’s cheeks. “In that case, maybe we should try to distract him a bit. Involve him in our conversation to put his mind at ease?” she suggested, glancing at Fitz before returning to her tattooing task. “So, what exactly is the design? A logo of sorts?”

“It’s our band logo,” Fitz replied, shyly. “Elephant and Castle.”

Jemma’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, how exciting. Should I have heard of you?”

“You will, love, you will,” Hunter answered confidently. “We’re finishing our first big album. Playing some gigs in the area to promote things, too. In fact, our next gig is tomorrow night at the Playground just down the road. You should come! We’ll be on at 10.”

“Oh.” Jemma pursed her lips. “Well, it is my night off.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Hunter pointed with his free hand at her. “And be sure to visit us backstage afterwards. I’ll put your name on the list.”

Jemma laughed quietly. “I don’t even know what kind of music you play.”

“Sort of folk rock. Alternative.” Fitz licked his lower lip, lifting his shoulders slightly. “Some people compare us to Mumford and Sons.”

“Yes, wankers who don’t know what they’re talking about,” Hunter interjected, moving his free hand horizontally through the air as if to negate Fitz’s statement. “We’re nothing like Mumford and Sons.” He raised his index finger importantly. “We’re better. Much better. And less obsessed with the banjo.”

Jemma snickered, glancing at Fitz who grinned back at her in apparent amusement over his friend. “Well, I’m intrigued, for sure. I might just see if I can make it.”

“Excellent, love. Excellent,” Hunter remarked, resting his head on his free arm, while looking down at his half-finished tattoo on his forearm.


	2. Chapter 2

“And that’s it!” Hunter yelled into the mic to break through the roaring cheers and applause. “Thank you for coming out tonight. You’ve been fantastic! Don’t forget to sign up for our newsletter with the lovely Elena at the door, so we can keep you up to date on upcoming tour dates and the release of our brand-new album.”

Jemma smiled widely, her hands getting sore from clapping. She watched the band members walk off stage, Fitz waving almost shyly at the crowd, while Hunter wrapped his arm enthusiastically around his shoulders. They disappeared into the side corridor that presumably led to the green room, followed by their drummer and keyboardist/second guitarist.

She slowly made her way through the crowd, mumbling apology after apology for bumping into people, yet silently cringing without complaint when an elbow or six hit her in varying parts of her body. Eventually, she made it to the side corridor, slipping past the long queue for the ladies’ restroom until a tree of a man with a clipboard in hand blocked her way.

“Can I help you?” he asked politely, yet sternly.

“I believe you can,” Jemma replied, smiling in a friendly manner. “My name should be on your list. Jemma Simmons.”

The man raised his eyebrows slightly, using the pen in his hand to go down his list, before pressing his lips into a thin line. “Sorry, you’re not on here.”

“Oh,” Jemma furrowed her brow. “Are you sure? Hunter said he’d put my name on the list.”

The bouncer inhaled slowly, studying his list a second time, before shaking his head. “There’s no Jemma Simmons on here, and no one with a similar name.”

Jemma slumped her shoulders. “Oh, well, I suppose then—”

“Hey, you made it!”

Jemma’s head spun around at the sound of the Scottish brogue, her lips pulling ear to ear almost reflexively when she saw Fitz, who appeared to have exited the men’s bathroom.

Despite the dimly lit corridor, his blue irises beamed at her brightly, causing her stomach to churn.

“Fitz,” she breathed, noticing her heart beat quicker. She cleared her throat, trying to find her composure. “Yes, yes, I did.” She gestured palm-up at the bouncer. “But it looks like my name isn’t on the list.”

“What? That can’t be right. Hunter said he put you on it.” Fitz looked in confusion back and forth between her and the bouncer, before waving his fingers towards himself. “Mack, can I see that for a moment?”

“Of course, Turbo,” Mack replied, smiling warmly and handing Fitz the clipboard.

Fitz’s eyes wandered down the list, before he let out a deep groan. He handed the clipboard back to Mack, pointing at a certain spot on the list. “That’s her.”

Mack wrinkled his forehead. “Yorkshire bird?”

Fitz nodded. “Yes, she’s the artist who gave him his new tattoo yesterday.”

Mack pursed his lips. “Oh, nice one. Loved the detail.”

“Thank you,” Jemma replied, smiling politely.

“Well then,” Mack gestured behind himself down the hallway. “Go right ahead, Yorkshire bird.”

Jemma chuckled, before taking a few steps in the direction, waiting for Fitz to follow her. One corner of his mouth was ticked up apologetically. He tucked his hands into his pockets, slendering down the hallway next to her. “Hunter is hopeless with names. I should have double-checked when he said he’d put you on the list.”

Jemma laughed quietly. “Oh, no worries. You showed up just at the right time to save the day.”

An amused little snort escaped him. “Suppose I did.”

He stopped in front of a door, opening it and gesturing inside, allowing her to enter first.

“There she is!” Hunter exclaimed excitedly from where he was lounging on the couch, beer in hand. He turned to look at the other band members, sitting in the same area. “Piper, Trip, this is the English rose responsible for this beauty.” He stretched out his arm with the new design.

“Nice meeting you,” Piper said, lifting her chin as a greeting. “Hunter has been talking our ears off about your rad tattooing skills.”

“Well, thank you. That’s rather kind of him.” Jemma stepped closer, sitting down on the couch across from Hunter. She eyed her former customer sternly. “You’re taking good care of your new ink, I hope? Following my instructions?”

“Oh, absolutely, love, nothing but the best for this beautiful new baby.”

“Would you like one?” Fitz asked, politely.

Jemma looked up in surprise, not having noticed he had returned with two bottles of beer, one of which he held out towards her. “Oh, yes, thank you.” She accepted his offer, a wave of butterflies rushing through her stomach at the way he held her gaze as he slowly sat down next to her.

“So, did you enjoy the concert?”

Jemma’s head shot around, when her ears picked up Trip’s question. “Oh, absolutely. It was fantastic. I must concur, Hunter: You’re far superior to Mumford and Sons.”

Hunter leaned back, a triumphant grin on his face. “Yes, we are. They’ll be our opening act one day. Mark my words!” He gestured into the round with his beer bottle.

“So, do you all write songs for the band?” Jemma inquired.

“We all contribute,” Piper explained, before waving her finger at Fitz and Hunter, “but it’s mainly these two.”

“What was your favorite song?” Hunter asked.

“Oh,” Jemma raised her eyebrows, contemplating for a moment before replying. “I think it was called ‘Phoenix Rising’.”

“Ha!” Hunter exclaimed, pointing his beer bottle at Fitz.

Jemma looked in surprise at Fitz, who rolled his eyes. “Not again, Hunter. We’ve been over this.”

Hunter raised both hands in Jemma’s direction. “Yes, but she’s an unbiased bystander. Surely, you’ll listen to her.”

“Hunter’s right, man,” Trip chimed in. “We keep telling you.”

Fitz dropped his head back, groaning slightly.

“Telling him what?” Jemma asked, curiously.

“That ‘Phoenix Rising’ should be our first single,” Piper elaborated.

Fitz sat up, leaning slightly forward to address his fellow band members. “It’s too slow.”

“Rubbish,” Hunter waved him off. “It’s memorable, it’s strong, it’s something folks want to identify with. It’s our best song. Our English rose here is living proof. Just get over yourself, mate, and accept that your song will be our entry ticket to the big stage.”

Fitz chuckled quietly, leaning back and taking a sip from his beer. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

“Hallelujah, it’s progress!” Hunter called out, before grinning at Jemma. “You’re a good influence on him. We should keep you around.”

Jemma laughed, glancing at Fitz, who was smiling back shyly. Once again, she felt a twinge in her stomach, Hunter’s words echoing in her mind. She cleared her throat. “So, why ‘Elephant and Castle’?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“It’s a part of London,” Fitz remarked.

“Well, yes, I know that. But why did you name your band after it?”

“Because Fitzy here rejected all of my suggestions,” Hunter lifted his chin in Fitz’s direction.

Fitz raised his shoulders, gesturing back at his friend, his eyes wide. “No one wants to listen to a band called ‘The Bloody Wankers.’”

Jemma coughed as the sip of beer she’d taken went down the wrong pipe. She tried to bring her laugh-induced coughing fit under control, nearly losing the ability to breathe entirely when Fitz began rubbing her back, leaning forward to look at her full of concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Jemma croaked, inhaling slowly to compose herself. “So, um, ‘The Bloody Wankers’ was rejected,” she remarked, giving the others the opportunity to continue their story.

“Well, that wasn’t my only suggestion,” Hunter said.

Fitz chuckled. “The others weren’t much better.”

“We argued over names for days,” Hunter began.

“And finally, I said, ‘Maybe we need to start over.’” Fitz continued.

“And I exclaimed, ‘That’s it, mate. Back to the beginning. Back to our origin. Elephant and Castle.’”

Fitz pressed his lips into a close-mouthed smile, shrugging. “And I had to admit that didn’t sound half bad.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile as the two friends told their band’s story together. “So that’s where you met?”

Fitz nodded, taking another swig from his beer. “Yep. At the tube station. I had just finished uni and was on a job hunt. Had an interview with a tech company scheduled and was running late. So, I’m rushing out the tube station and there’s this street musician playing Stairway to Heaven, and I can’t help myself, so in passing I yell, ‘You’re getting the chords wrong.’”

“And I yell back, ‘Do it better then, tosser,’” Hunter chimed in, smirking mischievously. “But he tells me he’s got better things to do, before rushing off into the distance.”

“An hour and a completely botched job interview later, I walk back to the station, head hanging low, when someone calls after me, ‘Well, if it isn’t the knob head who thinks he knows Stairway to Heaven better than me.’” Fitz paused, bringing his beer back to his lips, before continuing. “And, I don’t know—maybe I figured my day couldn’t get much worse, so I walk up to him, grab his guitar, and play a few riffs of Stairway to Heaven, hand the guitar back, turn around, and head for the tube platform. But before I can even get that far, a hand on my shoulder stops me. I turn around, and stare into his face. I figure I’m about to get punched, but instead—”

“I tell him, ‘Let me buy you a beer, mate,’” Hunter concludes.

Fitz chuckled. “A few hours and five beers later, I didn’t get the tech job, but I had somehow found myself a mate to play music with.”

“Took some convincing to drag him to America. Kept telling him he was wasting his dual citizenship, but he eventually concurred. That’s where we picked up these two beauties,” Hunter added, lifting his chin in Piper and Trip’s direction.

“What a great story,” Jemma remarked.

“Pizza’s here!”

Everyone’s heads shot in the direction of the door, where Mack stood with a stack of pizza boxes.

“Great, I’m starving!” Piper exclaimed, jumping off the couch and heading to where Mack was, taking some of the stack off his hands.

Trip and Hunter followed her, leaving only Fitz and Jemma sitting next to each other on the couch, while the rest gathered around the pizza, chatting away in the background.

Fitz cleared his throat, ticking his head to the side. “So, um, you want some, too?”

Jemma smiled politely, waving him off. “Oh, I can wait. It seems a bit crowded there right now.”

The corners of his mouth ticked up. “Yeah. Yes. I can wait, too.”

Jemma lost herself in his eyes for a moment, before forcing herself back to reality. “So, who is it about?”

“Who’s what about?” Fitz asked, wrinkling his forehead.

“Phoenix Rising,” Jemma clarified. “It seems so personal. I just assumed it was about someone specific.”

“Oh,” Fitz muttered, noticeably flustered. “I—um, yes, it—it’s personal. It’s—um—”

“I’m sorry,” Jemma apologized, pressing her palm against her chest. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s none of my business of course. I was just curious. The lyrics were so—intriguing and powerful. I mean, ‘Through the ashes she rose, Stronger than before. Through a curtain of tears—”

“She took center stage,” Fitz quietly finished the lyrics of his song. He scoffed briefly, one corner of his mouth ticking up. “I can’t believe you memorized those lyrics. You’ve only heard them once.”

Jemma smiled shyly. “I have a very good memory, and they were very—memorable.”

Fitz bit his lower lip, his eyes scanning Jemma, before he exhaled sharply. “My mum. It’s about my mum. Maybe it’s a bit about myself, too. We—it wasn’t always easy. My dad was—Well, it was a living hell, to be honest, but she managed—” He laughed as if he remembered a pleasant memory. “She managed to get us out. Start over. She’s the strongest person I know, and nothing can get her down.”

“Like a phoenix,” Jemma said quietly, touched by his story and honesty.

Fitz nodded. “Like a phoenix.”

“Thank you,” Jemma whispered, “for telling me.”

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he replied, equally quiet.

Jemma felt drawn to him, as if an invisible force pulled her closer.

“Pizza’s getting cold, guys,” Piper’s voice cut through the moment.

Fitz cleared his throat, slapping his thighs. “Well then, shall we?”

Jemma smiled politely, slightly disappointed by Piper’s interruption. “Yes, we shall. It smells delicious.”


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz exhaled sharply, trying to calm the nervous beating of his heart. Slowly, he brought his hand up to the handle and opened the door to the tattoo parlor, the bells above jingling gently.

Jemma looked up, and the smile that spread across her face almost took Fitz’s breath away. “Well, hello there,” she exclaimed cheerily.

“Hi,” Fitz replied shyly, his eyes wandering across the room, noticing that she was the only one there.

“Have we converted you into a tattoo believer already?” she asked, tongue-in-cheek, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

Fitz chuckled nervously. “No, not quite. I just—” He stepped up to the counter, scratching the skin below his ear before gesturing at Jemma. “I was just wondering whether you—if you—We—um—” He paused, embarrassed by his stammering. He took a deep breath, clearing his throat and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “We have another gig. Day after tomorrow at the Lighthouse. And I—uh—I was wondering if you wanted to come. ‘Cause if you do, then—then I’ll put your name on the list. Your actual name. No code names.”

She laughed, and the sound made Fitz’s stomach churn. “Well, to be honest—”

“You didn’t like the concert, did you?” Fitz slumped his shoulders, furrowing his brow. “You were just being polite.”

“What?” she exclaimed through a wave of laughter. “No. Stop it. I absolutely loved the concert. What I was going to say is that I was already planning on going.”

“Oh.” Fitz raised his eyebrows. “You were?”

“Yes.” She shrugged slightly. “I showed my friend Daisy some of the video clips I took on my phone, and she thoroughly enjoyed your music—plus, she seemed rather smitten with your drummer. So I thought it would be nice to give her the experience of a live concert, which means I would get the pleasure of hearing you play again as well.”

Fitz couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, well, excellent.”

“Excellent indeed.”

“So, I’ll just put both of you down on the list then?”

Jemma’s lips pulled ear to ear. “That would be wonderful, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I—um—I look forward to seeing you again.” Fitz wet his lips, feeling his ears burn up. “So, Daisy you said?”

Jemma nodded. “Yes. Daisy Johnson. Best friend and colleague.”

Fitz wrinkled his forehead. “She the one who was working the counter the other day?”

“Yes, that was her.”

“Huh,” Fitz bobbed his head. “That would be Piper’s type.”

Jemma grinned widely, scrunching her nose rather adorably. “Excellent.”

“Alright, so, um—” Fitz gestured over his shoulder. “Guess I’ll see you day after tomorrow then?”

“You sure will,” Jemma replied, before her eyes suddenly grew bigger. “Oh. Since you’re here, I might as well give it to you now.”

“Give what to me now?” Fitz asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Just one second.” Jemma raised her index finger, before turning on her heels and heading for one of the drawing desks, opening the top drawer and pulling out a folder. “I was hoping to use this as an excuse to convince Mack to let me backstage, but now that my name is on the list anyways—Here you go.” She opened the folder, sliding a drawing across the counter.

Fitz grabbed it, his eyes widening as he took in the intricate and precise lines, the polygon drawing of a phoenix engulfed in flames, its face stylized, yet clearly recognizable as a woman’s face. “Wow,” escaped his lips like a surprised exhale. “That’s—now that would make a great—”

“Tattoo?” Jemma asked, her eyes sparkling in a mix of mischief and curiosity.

Fitz chuckled quietly. “I was going to say album cover, but, yes, it—it would make a great tattoo, if I ever—” He paused, his eyes drawn back to the beautiful drawing.

He looked up when he heard a quiet laugh from Jemma. “Well, you may use it in whichever way you like.” She raised her finger importantly. “But if you ever decide to get a tattoo, I would hope that you’ll—”

“ _If_ I ever get a tattoo, then there’s definitely only one person I’ll ask to do it.”

Jemma’s smile grew wider, and Fitz felt his stomach churn with butterflies. He cleared his throat, scratching the skin below his ear. “So, umm, I should—umm,” he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

Jemma nodded in understanding. “Yes, of course. I’ll see you after the concert.”

“Yes, right.” Fitz nervously drummed his fingers on the counter, before raising his eyebrows. “Unless, umm—” He gestured at Jemma palm up. “Dinner.”

“Dinner?” Jemma furrowed her brow.

“Yes, dinner,” Fitz repeated, feeling his ears burn up and his heart beating beyond a healthy speed.

“It’s a meal that people eat,” Jemma remarked, half stating, half questioning.

Fitz chuckled nervously. “Yeah, no, I mean, you and I, we could go for dinner. To-tonight maybe?” He wiggled his index finger back and forth between their bodies, before looking down and gesturing at the drawing she’d gifted him. “As a thank you. I’ll invite you as a thank you.”

“Oh,” Jemma exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” Fitz backpaddled, panicked by her apparent surprise.

“No, I’d love to,” Jemma interjected, causing Fitz’s shoulders to drop in relief. “It’s just—” She looked around the tattoo parlor, “—it’s just that I’m the only one here today. We’re open until 10 for walk-ins, and that would be an awfully late dinner.”

“Right,” Fitz bobbed his head. “That’s a good point.” He chewed his lower lip, wrinkling his forehead in thought, before once again gesturing at Jemma palm up. “But you still have to eat, right?”

“Yes,” Jemma shrugged slightly. “Usually, I just order in.”

“Well, then I could pick something up and bring it here.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I saw an Indian place by the corner.”

“That’s one of my favorites, actually,” Jemma remarked, smiling widely.

“Well, then it’s settled?” Fitz asked, his heart filled with hope.

Jemma scrunched her nose. “They have a lovely sample special for two. A taste of all their most popular dishes. Daisy and I sometimes get it. I would highly recommend it.”

Fitz did a little drumroll on the counter, unable to keep from grinning widely. “Be back in a jiffy!”

* * *

“You know,” Jemma started, dipping a piece of naan into the rich sauce on her plate, “I must shamefully admit that when you two came in here the other day and mentioned you were in a band, I did not exactly expect you to be the lead singer.”

Fitz chuckled, moving the chunks of chicken in front of him around with his fork, trying to decide which one to eat next. “Well, I might be the lead singer, but Hunter’s our frontman, our spokesperson, our—”

“He’s something,” Jemma remarked tongue-in-cheek, shifting slightly to get more comfortable where they were half-sitting, half-leaning on the narrow counter in the supply room.

Fitz couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “He really is. But, I gotta admit, he’s the best mate a bloke could wish for.”

Jemma’s lips pulled into a wide smile, and for the umpteenth time that evening, Fitz’s stomach did a little flip.

Fitz cleared his throat, gesturing at Jemma with his fork. “Don’t tell him I said that. I’d never live it down. His ego is big enough as is.”

Jemma laughed quietly, before putting on an overly serious expression, shaking her head. “Wouldn’t dare to.”

Fitz scoffed, before focusing back on his food, trying not to blush. “So, since we’re being honest, I must shamefully admit that you’re not exactly what I had in mind when I think about a tattooist.”

“Is that so?” Jemma inquired, mischief lacing her tone.

Fitz lifted his gaze, pursing his lips and bobbing his head.

“You were thinking more of a tall, heavy-built man, in leather clothes, shaved head, full beard, tattooed from head to toe?” Jemma guessed.

“Pretty much.” Fitz pressed his lips into an apologetic smile.

Jemma chuckled. “Well, we come in all shapes and sizes—and varying degrees of tattoos.”

Fitz furrowed his brow as a thought crossed his mind. “Are there tattoo artists who don’t have any at all?”

She lifted her index finger importantly. “Actually, yes. I mean, they’re not particularly common, but, yes, some just do it for the art without feeling a need to get tattooed themselves.”

“So, umm,” Fitz cleared his throat, his eyes nervously darting back and forth between his plate and Jemma, not daring to look at her directly, “are you—do you—I mean, I don’t see any obvious—”

“I have one,” she replied, smiling warmly. “I got it when my grandmother, Rose, passed away. I was studying here and couldn’t afford to travel back for the funeral, and just felt awful to have lost her and not being able to be there to put her to rest. We were very close and it really hit me hard. And so I decided that I would get something to commemorate her, to always carry her with me—” She put her food down, reaching for the opening of her blouse and, unbuttoning the top buttons, revealing an intricate rose slightly to the left of her sternum. “—right above my heart.”

Fitz stared at the sight in front of him wide-eyed, unsure whether his heart was still beating or had exploded. “That—” He cleared his throat. “That’s beautiful.”

He heard a little chuckle, causing him to look up.

“The tattoo or my cleavage?” Jemma asked, cheekily but seemingly unfazed by his blatant staring.

Fitz felt his ears burn up, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He sighed, smiling apologetically. “Both,” he admitted shyly, knowing he couldn’t fool her. “I’m sorry.”

Jemma laughed out loud. “No need to apologize.” She closed the opening of her blouse without fastening the buttons again. “Anyway, Daisy was the one who gave me the tattoo, and we connected immediately, got to talking. The experience was what made me become a tattoo artist myself. I showed Daisy some of my drawings, asked her a million questions. She trained me. It’s such a wonderful thing, being able to help people tell their stories, overcome obstacles, commemorate important events. Behind every tattoo there’s a story, and I love being a part of that.”

Fitz stared at her in silent awe for a moment before whispering a quiet “Thank you.”

“For what?” Jemma asked, a confused smile playing on her lips.

Fitz shrugged slightly, placing his plate on the counter. “Sharing.”

She beamed back at him, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Well, you shared a rather personal story with me just the other night. I felt that if you can be this open and honest with me, I shouldn’t be afraid to do the same.”

Fitz inhaled slowly, biting his lower lip. He pushed himself to fully standing, his heart beating frantically, especially when he noticed that Jemma had straightened up as well, a nervous yet excited shimmer in her eyes. Fitz took half a step closer to her, leaning in as if a magnetic force pulled them towards each other.

But before he could kiss her, the bell above the door jingled, causing both of them to look at the half-open door in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma whispered, ticking her head in the direction of the counter. “I have to—”

Fitz bobbed his head, tucking his hands in his pockets, “Yeah, no, of course.”

He watched her walk away, catching a glimpse of her talking to the two women who had entered the tattoo parlor when his phone suddenly vibrated in his back pocket. He checked the caller-ID before answering. “Hey, Hunter, what’s up?”

“Where the hell are you?” his best mate barked into the phone.

Fitz furrowed his brow in confusion over Hunter’s apparent agitation. “What? At the tattoo parlor. I told you I wanted to invite Jemma to our next gig.”

“That was hours ago!”

“Yes, well, I picked up dinner for us and we’ve been—talking,” Fitz replied, nervously scratching the skin below his ear, glancing through the open door at Jemma, who was still busy with her customers.

“Alright, mate, listen,” Hunter’s voice caused Fitz to shift back his focus. “While I’m usually very supportive when it comes to getting you laid—”

“Hey, it’s not like that,” Fitz exclaimed defensively, “and—”

“Yes, yes, yes, true love then,” Hunter interrupted, “Still, mate, this time around, I need to be a cockblock and tell you to get your scrawny arse over to the rehearsal space.”

“Why? What did you do this time?”

“I would pretend to be insulted, but I don’t have time for that right now. Fitz, does the name Phil Coulson ring a bell?”

Fitz’s eyes widened at the name. “Phil Coulson? The producer? S.H.I.E.L.D. Records?”

“That’s the one.”

“Hunter?” Fitz asked breathlessly, feeling his chest tighten.

“Apparently one of his talent scouts heard us play the other night, and now he’s planning on coming to our next gig—with Melinda May.”

Fitz raised his eyebrows. “May? She manages his biggest accounts.”

“Precisely, my friend. So, I suggest we squeeze in some extra rehearsals.”

“Yeah, no, of course.” Fitz paused for a moment, letting the news fully sink in before exhaling sharply. “Fuck. S.H.I.E.L.D. Records?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. fucking Records, mate. This could be it. Everything we dreamed of.”

“Hey, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

Fitz spun around when Jemma’s voice piped up behind him, startling him.

“Yeah, no, um—” he stammered, before bringing his phone back up to his ear. “Hunter, I—I’ll be right there.” He quickly hung up, smiling apologetically at Jemma. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She beamed back at him, gesturing over her shoulder. “I just got two walk-ins. Rather bittersweet story. They both want a star pattern and a pink breast cancer ribbon to commemorate their mother who passed away. They’re looking at different star designs right now, but I’m afraid I’ll be busy until closing.”

Fitz gnawed his bottom lip, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck and rubbing it nervously. “Yeah, I—actually, I need to get going anyways. Apparently this guy from a huge record label will come to our next gig, and—well, we should practice some more. Really get up to snuff.”

Jemma’s eyes widened in excitement. “A record label? How exciting. Well, I wish you best of luck, or break a leg? Or whatever the appropriate phrase is these days.”

Fitz chuckled. “Thanks. I—You’ll—I hope I’ll still see you after the concert? You and Daisy?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright, then I should—” He cleared his throat, picking up the drawing she’d gifted him. “And thanks again for this, and—and I had a great time—dinner.”

“Me too.”

Jemma’s head spun around when one of her customers called from the front. “I think we found the design we want.”

“Oh, I’ll be right with you,” she called out, before smiling apologetically at Fitz. “Goodbye, Fitz.”

“Bye.” Fitz bobbed his head. He took a few steps past her towards the door, before turning back. He paused for a moment, exhaling through rounded lips, before curling his fingers around the back of Jemma’s head and kissing her.

He broke the kiss, staring at her anxiously. “Was that—was that alright? ‘Cause earlier I felt like maybe we were about to and—”

He inhaled sharply when Jemma’s lips sealed his, his stomach churning as their tongues brushed against each other.

“That was quite alright,” Jemma whispered, her palm gently resting against Fitz’s cheek.

“Alright.” Fitz cleared his throat, gesturing over his shoulder. “Gotta go now.”

“So you keep saying,” she teased, grinning widely.

He scoffed briefly before kissing her one more time. “For good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this fic.
> 
> In the spirit of full disclosure: I may have an idea for another scene. Just not sure yet if I'll turn it into another chapter / epilogue for this fic or make it a separate one-shot. In any case, RL is super busy, so it may not happen for awhile. But stay tuned ;)

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read any of my other fics, you'll know that I use Mumford and Sons lyrics as titles for about half my fics, so this is purely Hunter being Hunter and not me bashing the band ;)


End file.
